


Soduna Prema Prema

by Atulreiter



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Abandoment Issues, Angst, Bumblebee loses it just a little bit, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Giant Robots, M/M, Obsession, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2018-08-18 11:01:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8159849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atulreiter/pseuds/Atulreiter
Summary: I didn’t want to live with his friend; I wanted to live with Sam. I didn’t like humans; I liked Sam. I didn’t want to be a part of human life; I wanted to be a part of Sam’s life. It was Sam and it was that simple. But it was Sam so it wasn’t.





	1. When Somebody Loved Me...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ranchod_Tunnell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranchod_Tunnell/gifts).



> I don't usually write for the Transformers even though I like them well enough. Still, I thought about how the first movie ended with Sam allowing Bumblebee to stay with him then changing his mind about all the transformers in the second movie then again in the 3rd. I imagine Bumblebee was probably terribly confused and hurt by Sam's actions. I like Sam but my creativity said "hey what if there was this feeling that Sam doesn't always appreciate the bug-turned-Camaro?" And I considered it and thought, "Hmm...that would be interesting because it's not like Sam _didn't_ go right back to school at the end of the 2nd movie and he _still_ can't bring the car so where's Bumblebee gonna go? The Autobots think they've prevented Ragnarok ~~mainly because they don't know that Sentinel's an ass and Megatron is basically immortal and humans are going to essentially hunt them like dogs in the near future, but whatever! Everything's okay for now!~~ so they're not going to bother with little Bumbles too much, I don't think." Creativity then mentioned the extreme lack of good Transformer reader-inserts so I decided to try my luck at hopefully not adding myself to the shitlist.
> 
> This is going to be a sadder story but Bumblebee is too precious to torture for too long so don't be too depressed. :P

            “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

 

            I just barely caught the soft words and quickly adjusted my audials. I felt bad about spying on Sam when he obviously meant for this conversation to be private but it was necessary.

            I heard Sam exhale in that short harsh way he did when he was irritated. His speech predictably quickened and, though it was low now, was liable to rise in volume if his companion was persistent, “Look. We’ve been over this. I can’t take him with me! And even if I could, I probably wouldn’t.” I ignored the flash of hurt that shimmered over my spark chamber. Sam wasn’t always good with his words and I was sure he didn’t mean it how it came out. I sunk down on my tires dejectedly. That didn’t stop it from hurting.

            Sam has been dutifully preparing his return to college. I didn’t understand why he felt it so important to return. From what I understand about college, humans went to be programmed according to their desired primary functions. Sam didn’t require that. Optimus Prime had offered him a place in our rapidly-growing human division. Sam was not much of a soldier but neither was Ratchet and he is invaluable. Still, Sam had declined every offer, insisting that he wanted to be normal. I didn’t see how it was possible, especially now that all of the other humans knew about him and his connection with us, but he was adamant.

            I didn’t have a problem with his wish for normalcy. I’d embraced it actually. Usually, Jazz (my spark pulsed angrily at the reminder of my fallen commander) was the one who got to have all of the fun with the inhabitants of the planets we’d visited. Then again, before now, I’d never had an interest in another alien species. I wanted to know as much about humans as I could. Or at least that’s what I had thought at first.

            I found out the truth when Sam first told me that I was not allowed to come with him. I’d been upset because I thought I really wanted to go with him. And I had. I wanted to go with Sam. _Only_ Sam. He’d been under the same assumption as I: that I simply wanted to learn more about humans on a more personal level.

            Thirteen and a half orns ago, we’d gotten an answer to Optimus Prime’s transmission concerning any remaining Autobots. Prowl, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Bluestreak, and Arcee were entering Earth’s orbit. Arcee had crashed into a human’s residence. To her credit, the human lived in the middle of nowhere. Apparently this wasn’t normal even for humans because Sergeant Epps made a loud fuss about it while the humans set up plans to pay for damages.

            The human wasn’t much older than Sam was so they got along very well. He was nice enough but I didn’t pay him very much attention until that day Sam gave me the bad news. He’d tried to soften the announcement by telling me that if I didn’t want to return to Optimus that he had a friend that was willing to take care of me. I doubted him severely because, even though he would be devastated if he found out, he himself was doing a very poor job of taking care of me. (Humans simply did not know enough about Cybertronians to know how to house one though I could not blame them.) Still, I’d reluctantly agreed. He didn’t give me time to do anything else.

            He was off to college the same day that he’d arranged for me to live with his human companion, (Name), and it didn’t take more than a breem, if that, for it to click. All of a sudden, like a missing program had been installed into my CPU, I understood.

            I didn’t want to live with his friend; I wanted to live with Sam. I didn’t like humans; I liked Sam. I didn’t want to be a part of human life; I wanted to be a part of _Sam’s_ life. It was Sam and it was that simple. But it was _Sam_ so it _wasn’t_. I didn’t even have time to analyze what that meant before Megatron had returned.

            Now, six metacyles later, things are just starting to settle back down and Sam has not forgotten about a thing, “This is not about just you, though, Sam.” (Name)’s voice was reproachful. Clearly he was choosing to ignore Sam’s volatile temper.

 

            “Of course it’s not! Look, my parents aren’t going to let him stay in their garage. He doesn’t need to! He’s a gigantic alien robot with gigantic alien robot friends for crying out loud! I bet you Optimus has a ton of stuff for him to do. He doesn’t belong here with me. He belongs with them and I belong here...uh... _there_ , in college.”

 

            “He doesn’t want to be with them.” Sam made a sound in the back of his throat that sounded like the start of a yell but he never got to release it. (Name) cut him off. “He doesn’t want to be with me either, Sam, and you know it.”

 

            There was silence before the soft sound of human feet moving across wooden floors reached my audios, “Well, it’s not negotiable. Either he goes back to Optimus or he goes with you but he can’t come with me. I love ‘im but…I mean, rules are rules…y’know? And I can’t change ‘em.”

 

            A door opened and closed and I turned down my audios. Right before the radius became too small I caught one, last, regretful sentence before (Name), too, left the room.

 

 “No, you can…You _could_...But, for some odd reason…y _ou just won’t.”_

           

 


	2. Everything, Every Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bumblebee appears to handle the situation gracefully. There's no fighting or fussing at all but it's only because he's planning something he really shouldn't be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmm...I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter. I like it sometimes and then I look at it again and decide I don't. Either way, I'm posting it since I can't find anything else to tweek on it ~~yet~~.

            I could tell (Name) was uncomfortable by the way he shifted in my seat. Outwardly, it would appear as if he were completely at ease: his face was neutral and his posture was relaxed. But it was forced. His shoulders were tense where they touched me. His eyes flickered, unsure of where to look. His servos were having a similar problem. He clasped them tightly in his lap, refusing to touch my steering wheel. His tiny EM field, detectable only at ridiculously close proximities, was anxious; like he wanted to say something but was afraid to. It reminded me of Bluestreak.

            Thankfully he didn’t talk nearly as much. I could deal with it from Bluestreak but this human’s presence wasn’t nearly as welcome. He knew as much, too. Maybe later, when I was in a better mood, I’d try to be civil. Optimus Prime wouldn’t tolerate baseless discourtesy towards humans as Sunstreaker learned the hard way. But for right now he could shove it.

            The drive was long and silent. I’ve taken Sam to (Name)’s house often enough to know my way. Even if I didn’t, there was GPS. It was easy to pretend that I was alone. I focused on the human’s speed limit, challenging myself to stray not a foot per minute above or below. The sun was high and hot as usual. So was the asphalt beneath my tires. I kept the AC on more to keep my systems cool than to provide comfort for the human. The pale green foliage, so different from the thick, dark green of the east coast, whipped by on either side. A single tuft of thin white fluff drifted across the sky. Overall, it was a normal, beautiful day on Earth and it completely contradicted the situation.

            About half a cycle later, (Name) suddenly sat up a little straighter. His eyes followed the roads now and I resisted the urge to ask him what was wrong. He was most likely just happy to be home. Still, I ended up slowing down as the road changed. It wasn’t how I remembered it. Arcee’s travel pod dug a trench that started a couple of yards away from this deserted road and stretched to an end in the side of a house on a small hill. The humans had apparently been very busy in the stellar cycles since the landing. The trench was built into a ramp that led down into the ground. It split before going under. The second path lead up to the driveway that wrapped around the house before making its way back down to the main street. The house itself was rectangular with many windows. It looked smaller than it was before but a quick scan said that it was actually the opposite. Most of the building was underground.

            I hesitated, slowing to almost a stop before the road split. I jerked the driver’s seat slightly, hoping he would understand what I was trying to say without me having to actually say it. He seemed to after I did it again and inched forward a little, “I would say to go down. The larger garage is down there and it was designed for visiting Autobots. I mean, you can always come up if you want but you seem to want to be left alone which is understandable…”

           

            He trailed off when I didn’t acknowledge him beyond choosing a path. I took the one leading up, intent on dropping him off first before finding a place to claim as my own. His chassis heaved with an inaudible sigh as he climbed out. He hesitated. I didn't. My engine roared and my tires squealed and before the little human could un-shutter his optics, I'd disappeared underground.

 

             I'd gone in expecting to run straight into a wall and I was a little surprised that I didn't. Not that I _wanted_ to destroy this human's home but it would've been nice to break something. There was a lot of space down here; so much so that my headlights only broke a fraction of the darkness. The Autobot Hangar back at the base was big, too, but even in the dark I could feel where things were: where the walls were, where the humans' catwalks zigzagged overhead, even where that irritating draft came from. I couldn’t sense anything here. According to my doorwings, there was nothing here but empty space.

            I transformed cautiously, expecting the ceiling to drop on top of my helm at any moment, but it never happened. I was able to stand to my full height without tripping any proximity alerts. I was tempted to raise my servos to see how high they could go before touching something but my spark caved at the idea. My armor tightened unconsciously and I had to mute my vocalizer against a keen.

           The twins would joke about a fear of the dark and maybe the darkness did have something to do with it but I felt cold. I honestly wanted nothing more than to be back at the Witwickies'. I couldn’t remember feeling this bad since I’d been searching for the All Spark by myself nine stellar cycles ago. Sure, the planet wasn’t as strange to me now as it was then but I was just as lonely. I tipped my helm back against the wall and let my systems fall into stand-by.

 

            It really wasn’t _that_ bad. I could see that now since my emotional center wasn’t overriding all other thought processes. A human year wasn’t really all that long by Cybertronian standards. It was one metacycle short of a stellar cycle which was really only ten and a half Earth minutes—a bit over a breem—if Earth’s time could relate to how Cybertronians feel time pass. And Sam wouldn’t be in school for all twelve months anyway. The hard part would be resetting my internal time systems.

            Ratchet, on Optimus’ orders, set all of our clocks to run by Earth’s timing. It helps us relate easier to humans which was the point of the operation but it’s complicated; so complicated that only medics are taught how to tweak their programming. Even Jazz left his alone and he was always tampering with his internal workings in a way that fried Ratchet’s circuits. Usually, given enough time, the systems would adjust automatically but human lifespans are so short that Ratchet was forced to do it manually. I couldn’t ask him to reset mine since we’d both be going against direct orders but if I could wait long enough for them to glitch neither of us could be blamed.

 

 

            I wasn’t sure how much time passed; checking the time would ruin any progress I was making (if I was making any at all). It was outrageously difficult to ignore Ratchet’s alarms and alerts that tried to force recharge and defragging when night came. I hadn’t even known those were in place before now since I’d taken to Earth’s timing so well. Despite my greatest efforts, I always knew when the day had changed even if I didn’t bother counting how many had passed or what time it was. This wasn’t working.

            I found myself thinking about any and every thing to distract myself from it. I pulled up memory files from my travels through the galaxies and across planets. They all felt so meaningless now. Surely Sam would think they were beautiful but I’ve seen so many stars, planets, asteroids, and other cosmic wonders that I barely pay them any attention now. They were cold, nonliving, unfeeling objects in an abyss of cold black but

            Earth was the exact opposite. Most planets with life forms were, of course, but I’ve not seen one as beautiful as this planet in a long time. I’ve no doubt now that Sam was the reason. Truly, without his antics, I wouldn’t spare this primitive planet a second thought no matter how exciting it was at first to meet other sentient beings.

           [Name] fell into my thoughts when I thought about earth people like Sam and I wondered how long it’d been since I’d left him and if he’d come looking for me if I never showed up. The longer I sat there, the more impatient and, surprisingly, upset I became that he hadn’t come down. Maybe I’d only been down here for a few human hours? Maybe I’d been here so long that he forgot I existed? Why hadn’t Sam called or texted me if I’d been down here as long as it felt like I had? Was I really that unimportant to him?

           Of course I expected thoughts like these but they were still hard to ignore. It was especially hard when the thoughts stemmed from the secret places of my spark. I tried reassuring myself that it didn’t matter if [Name] came down or not because I wasn’t in the mood for company, anyway. That it would be hard for him to forget that an alien was hiding in his…basement. That I was very important to Sam since he’d tricked his government into releasing me and cried when I’d been injured by Starscream’s missiles back in Mission City. He’d let me stay with him even though he didn’t know a thing about me at the time. I was being irrational.

            But being irrational was good. That meant my systems were starting to itch. That meant something was happening and changing and if I was lucky, it would be what I wanted. If I’d been a bit more like myself, I probably would’ve been more afraid of how light and fuzzy my helm was starting to feel but it was hot. The water in the air stuck to my paint as my core temperature skyrocketed. Checking the time was becoming harder and harder to resist. My doorwings scrapped helplessly against the wall in their attempt to ease the processor ache I was developing. I felt disconnected from my frame and at any given moment, it would force me to do exactly what I didn’t want to. I initiated a recharge cycle with the last bit of control that I had over myself and everything went blissfully silent.

 

            I dreamed of Sam!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Attention!**_ Just so you know? Self-harm is **not** a healthy way to deal with emotions. It might not seem like that's what this is because Cybertronian biology is so different but Bumblebee is being very foolish right now and it's not something we should emulate. I just wanted to point this out for anyone who noticed the similaries. If you want more detail on what he's doing, Ratchet will explain. He will most definitely have to come in eventually for the damage Bumblebee does to his systems.
> 
>  
> 
> RIP Jazz


	3. Visitation: Access Denied

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again. Here is chapter three. It didn't want to take form for a long time but then one day I woke up and five chapters suddenly slotted themselves into place. Now it's a race to get them all down before they once again slip through my grasp. This one, however, is decidedly caught so please enjoy!
> 
> RIP Jazz

            There were some things you learned in war that could never be forgotten. Humans were small but some Cybertronians came in the same size. It went without saying that I reacted rather badly when [Name] approached me in the middle of recharging.

            My engine sputtered in outrage as my battle mask dropped down over my faceplates. He was smart enough not to panic despite coming face to face with a pair of cannons with ammo larger than his tiny helm. He held his servos up in the air, a common human action that I’d seen enough to learn meant a combination of submission and an unwillingness to harm or be harmed. I suppose it would be in bad taste for me to disregard that.

            With a frustrated whirl, I settled back against my wall and glared down at the human male. Belatedly I realized that there was light and that I didn’t need my doorwings to see him. As I had deduced…well, an indiscernible amount of time ago, the emptiness was vast. It wasn’t nearly as dingy and basic as I had been expecting. The walls and ceiling weren’t a mess of support beams and shoddy cement work. They were perfectly smooth and painted a bright beige. There were even some artistic elements in the large square carvings whose centers cradled the sources of light. The floors were laminated though the color varied depending on where in the room I looked. There was clearly more work to be done judging by the multitude of crates stacked in random intervals across the expanse. It actually coincided with the floors’ shifts in color and I would have been curious if I cared at all about what this human did with his property.

 

            “What do you want?” I snapped, not in any mood to sift through the radio waves to find the words. Ratchet _had_ fixed my vocalizer after all. I kept up the use of media because Sam always found my references funny. Without him here to enjoy them, it would no doubt feel hollow.

 

            I remember feeling upset that this little thing hadn’t come down to check on me but now I wish he hadn’t. I wanted desperately to ask him how long I’d been down here. I wanted to get some insight into how long it’d been since Sam left, some idea about when I could expect him to text or call. I wanted to know how long [Name] had ignored my presence. I wanted to confirm how negligible I knew he was going to be so I could complain to Sam about it later. Surely he would get angry on my behalf and come back for me if he knew. That was probably why he hadn’t contacted me yet: he probably thought everything was fine. And it would have been if this little thing hadn’t shown up and sparked my processor into seeking questions that would inevitably tell me how much time had passed which would unfortunately ruin my plan to forcibly reset my chronometer.

 

            “Nothing,” he said simply. Of course not, selfish little beast. He let his limbs drop to his sides though he still shifted his weight uncomfortably. “I just wanted to see if you were still here. You’ve been really quiet.”

 

            “Would you prefer I make a ton of noise?”

 

            He shrugged, “The walls down here are pretty thick so it wouldn’t really bother _me_ but there’s nothing down here for you to do yet so I thought--”

 

            “I’m not going to run away despite how much I don’t want to be here.” He frowned but there was no point in pretending any longer. Both of us knew the truth. “I will respect Sam’s desire. He will miss me soon enough and reconsider his options.”

 

            “That’s not what I--”

 

            “Your intentions are irrelevant.”

 

             “Of course they are.” He sighed and seemed to wilt a little. “Listen--”

 

            “ _No_.”

 

            Amazingly enough a small smile crept onto his face, “Stubborn.” It was there for only a moment. Then the expression dropped and he turned away before I could identify the emotion he displayed next. “Well, I can tell we aren’t going to get anywhere today.” I twitched at the time unit. Thankfully he left before my processors could begin obsessing over it. Unfortunately, the little glitch left the lights on.

 

            I didn’t think I would miss the dark. It wasn’t something I’d ever liked but in this case, it made things easier. I couldn’t see anything in the dark. There was precious little to focus on without light. There was only me, it, and my thoughts. Admittedly there wasn’t much to look at down here either but my naturally curious nature had my optics straying to the crates on more than one occasion.

            For the first time in a long while--well, had it really been a long time? I couldn’t tell-- _ ~~Un~~_ fortunately? (Was it _really_ a good thing?) [Name] only mentioned the time of day and not their quantity—my thoughts weren’t saturated with Sam. They were, however, getting somewhat chaotic with all the different threads branching off from each other. All of them inevitably went back to [Name] and Sam and how long I would have to stay here before I was allowed out.

            But that was normal, wasn’t it? Didn’t that mean something was working?

           Malfunctioning?

            Primus. My helm was starting to hurt.

 

 


	4. Visitation: Access Granted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait at least a day but I was too excited. :P

            “What do you _want_?”

 

            Really, I should’ve known he was going to come back. He couldn’t just leave well enough alone.

 

            He should really be thankful. I wasn’t loud. I wasn’t being destructive…

            Well, there was that one crate that kept calling to me. I had to open it.

            It was a disappointing discovery. All I found were a collection of parts to some form of human furniture that I didn’t bother to research. It was [Name]’s after all. Not Sam’s. I still hid the evidence.

 

            “Do you want to go out today?”

 

           I stared with wide optics at the small creature. An amazing variety of emotions assaulted me in that moment and it took me a while to settle on just a few of them. Why the frag would I want to go anywhere with this fleshling? The same thought sparked amusement because _really_? No, just no. How would he ever come to the conclusion that I would help him run errands? [Name] should at least know better. He’d been smart enough to understand from the beginning that I didn’t want this arrangement. Not that Sam was stupid! Just maybe not as empathetic as he could be. That was probably the reason. Sam had likely offered my services without consulting me but on this I would not budge.

 

            [Name] didn’t need me to make a verbal answer to his question. He stared at me with something similar to incredulous desperation as he asked: “How long are you going to hole yourself up down here?”

 

            “I’m not taking you anywhere.” I flicked my doorwings dismissively though I doubted he would understand the gesture. I didn’t understand it either until I watched Prowl do it enough times and finally asked him about it. He was a true Praxian from Praxus. My doorwings came about solely because of my transformation sequence. They picked up some things for sure but they weren’t nearly as powerful as natural sensor panels. That aside, no amount of stomping or shouting would make me budge on this matter. [Name] was strangely silent though for someone who had been denied what they wanted.

 

            “Okay. That’s fine. You don’t have to move. I’ll just come to you. How’s that?” I got the feeling that question was entirely rhetorical especially when he settled himself on his aft with a small grunt. He crossed his legs and rested his elbows on his knees, chin sitting in his palms as he stared up at me with a small smile. “How are you today, Bumblebee?”

 

            I debated on telling him to go away. I really didn’t want to talk to him. Still, this was his home and _I_ was the guest. I rumbled my engine in an attempt to quell my rising agitation, “I’m fine.”

 

            “…” He stared at me for a long moment and the smile dropped into a frown. It left way too easily in my opinion for it to have been genuine to begin with. “You’re lying but it’s okay.”

 

            I jerked away from him, affronted. He simply smiled again and spoke before I could respond, “Not every day is going to be great so there’s no point in pretending though I bet it’s even harder for you since there’s not a lot for you to do down here. What exactly _do_ you do down here anyway?”

 

            “Recharge.”

 

            “' _Recharge_ ’,” he repeated thoughtfully. “That’s like sleeping, huh? Do you dream?”

 

            “…No. Not the same way humans do.”

 

            “How would you know for sure? I mean even humans don’t fully understand what our dreams are and how they work.”

 

            “Because Cybertronian brains are actual computers; not fleshy little organs pretending to work like one.” That sent a twinge through my frame though because last…whatever, I dreamed about Sam. Which isn’t possible. They should have all been memory files that needed to be reviewed, resorted, and restored in my processors. And in a way they were but they all seemed to overlap and distort themselves until I was convinced I’d never lived through those moments at all.

            That never happens. It wasn’t normal and I thought about maybe contacting Ratchet and having him poke around but then he would see what I’ve done to my time systems and that was simply _not_ acceptable. It was likely just a side-effect of my tampering that would resolve itself when everything else did.

 

            “…Are you okay, Bumblebee?”

 

            The question pulled a confused drone from me before I could stop myself. But that was a good question.

            Was I?

            I couldn’t really tell. Sure, this human’s presence annoyed me but I understood why. He just wasn’t Sam.

            But then, Mikaela definitely wasn’t Sam either and I never had any negative reactions to her.

            Then again, Mikaela was also very nice.

            But wasn’t [Name] nice, too? He’d always been every other time. Of course, it could always have been a lie—a show put on for Sam to make him like him.

            Sort of like how Sam had done for his female when he first bought me.

 

            …

 

            I scrutinized the human sitting across from me with renewed interest. Disgust, anger, horror, and no small amount of possessiveness flooded my field. [Name] didn’t fancy Sam, did he?

            He couldn’t! I wouldn’t stand for it! Sam was _mine_! I share him willingly with Mikaela because that is what he wishes but never with _this_ human! Not this one who was keeping me separated from my—

            Wait. But he wasn’t, was he? He’d actually invited me to leave this strangely well-built basement even if it was just to run him into town.

            …

 

            Actually, he hadn’t explicitly asked me to do anything for him yet. I wasn’t kidnapped. (I might have laughed at the idea of a human capturing a Cybertronian if it didn’t happen so often. Between Sector Seven and the human branch of N.E.S.T., the humans were building a very fearsome reputation. Still.) I wasn’t being held captive.

 _Sam_ was the one who _sent_ me away. It was for a good reason. I’m sure it was. Wasn’t it? I couldn’t really remember.

 

            My helm hurts.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bumblebee is starting to get a little mixed up. It's mostly to do with his self-imprisonment and his ill-advised tampering with his chronometer but there are other key factors butting against him, too. His behavior will make sense in a little while.


	5. Only Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Honestly this chapter took a lot of thought despite how simple the concept was. 
> 
> Mostly, the trouble was trying to convey that Bumblebee isn't really processing things as smoothly as he should be. There's a few times where thoughts begin, switch, and then begin again on that first thought just slightly rephrased. His emotions aren't stable at all either though he's not really well enough to notice that he's switching between them so quickly. I tried to condense all these things so that it wouldn't be too confusing but still slightly odd enough that we can tell something isn't quite right. 
> 
> If it was from the reader's perspective, no doubt he would have been largely unintelligible but since I'm using 'Bee's POV and he knows--mostly--what he means I cut back on all the off-putting indicators. 
> 
> On a side note: you as the reader-character are torn between being confused and amused by his odd behavior.

            I had [Name] turn the lights back off after his last visit. My helm was receiving too much sensory data. I didn’t see how when there was nothing here really for me to sense but I wasn’t a medic like Ratchet. Still, Sam often turned off the lights and lied in darkness when he got headaches. They usually passed very quickly for him. I couldn’t understand why it wasn’t working for me.

            But then human time and Cybertronian time didn’t really sync up very well so I shouldn’t be surpri—wait a second!

            My doorwings perked up on my back as my frame jolted. That meant my chronometer was starting to reset! That was the only reason my frame would recognize the passage of time as so much longer! It was working! It had to be! My spark leapt joyously inside my chassis.

            I ignored the stream of errors that flooded my HUD with my sudden motion. My helm just didn’t like how quickly I moved, that’s all. Sam explained that to me when I asked why he moved so carefully when he had headaches.

 

            The lights eased on and a moment later, [Name]’s familiar little footsteps made themselves over to me, “Aww, hey, you’re in a good mood today. What’s happened?”

 

            “My time-keeping systems are resetting themselves,” I chirped enthusiastically before I could stop myself.

 

            [Name] settled on the floor again as he usually did when he visited me, “Why would they need to do that?”

 

            “They don’t _need_ to. I _want_ them to, silly.”

 

            A strange look crossed the little human’s face and he sat up a bit straighter, “Bumblebee, are you okay?”

 

            “I’m more than ‘okay’, I’m amazing~! I’ll get to see Sam in ten Earth minutes on Cybertron!”

 

            “That makes no sense.”

 

            “Of course, it does.” I snarled. [Name] stared at me with those wide (color) optics of his. I sighed heavily and dismissed him with my doorwings. I didn’t need his negative energy right now. I wouldn’t let him take away my happiness. It felt like forever since I’ve had any. “Sam would understand.”

 

            “Sam comes up a lot in our conversations…”

 

            “There’s no reason to get jealous, [Name],” I sneered.

 

            “Jealous? I don’t—it’s not—Are you—I don’t know, sick or something?”

 

            “No. I’m _happy_. I just _said_ that.”

 

            “Oh. Right. Well, that’s good, then…?”

 

            “Maybe _you’re_ the one who’s sick. Ratchet should scan your ears for you.”

 

            “Ratchet sounds like a good idea.” A silence settled between us. I was content to stay in--stay my thoughts and imagine all the things Sam and I would do when he finally came back in a couple, couple minut--Breems? Whatever! But of course, [Name] had to ruin it. He ruins _every--everything_. “You never explained about your time system thing.”

 

            “It’s none of your business.”

 

            He huffed a laugh and turned his eyes to the ceiling. A nanosecond later, he leaned back onto his servos, “You’re the one who brought it up. I assumed you’d want to talk about it.”

 

            “You’re a human so you should know what they say about assuming things.”

 

            A tiny smile threatened to curl his mouth though his tone was suspiciously neutral when he asked, “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

 

            “It makes an ass out of you and me,” I recited dutifully.

 

            [Name] strangled his laugh down to a chocked hum, “Yeah, I suppose it does. Where’d you learn that? From Sam or the Internet?”

 

            The fact that he was able to guess my resources put a damper on my boasting and I angled myself away from him, “None of your business.”

 

            “Come now, Bumblebee: there’s no need to be childish. I’m just trying to talk to you.” Despite his words he didn’t sound offended. In fact, [Name] seemed to find the whole thing, entire thing, amusing. It grated on my gears a little, honestly.

 

            “You’re younger than me,” I countered, unable to think of anything else to say. He had no problem firing off-back a response.

 

            “By how much?”

 

            “Almost 21 vorns,” I said smugly though it didn’t have the desired effect. [Name] just raised his optica-eyebrows and finally looked away from the ceiling.

 

            “I have no idea what that means.”

 

            Of course he didn’t. Still, I was too bubbly to be annoyed with him. I even went through the trouble of converting the numbers into something easier for tiny human computer-brains to understand, “A vorn is a 83 of a stellar cycle is one earth year is one Cybertron year.”

 

            “Which means…” I rumbled my engine a little at his raised little strip of hair.

 

            “Maybe…1,743 little human years.”

 

            “Huh.” [Name] huffed, temporarily lost—not found--for words. Eventually he shrugged. “I don’t know why I thought you were older. I mean, that’s certainly older than any human could ever hope to be but I don’t know, I still expected something in the millions.”

 

            I scowled at him. All the Autobots knew I was the youngest mech around. Incidentally, they’d all been there since I was a newspark. Still, it didn’t seem right for this human to be able to understand something like my relative age when he was over a thousand years my junior, especially when he was too dumb to understand simple math! “I’m not a sparkling.”

 

            This time the huff was a bit more forceful and he leaned forward to regard me more intensely, “I don’t know what that means.” I growled at him and he raised his servo-hands in that surrender/submit way of his. “It’s not my fault you’re using extraterrestrial jargon! It doesn’t help that you’re starting to make all these weird, long, little, buzzing, whistling noises when you speak. I don’t know what a ‘sparkling’ is though from your reaction I’m gonna guess and say it must imply you’re not allowed to sit at the big kids’ table for Thanksgiving. Am I right? How old does that make Optimus Prime then?”

 

            “Go away,” I said. I didn’t feel like dealing with him anymore.

 

            Usually [Name], stubborn little thing that he was, pressed a bit harder when I demanded he leave me alone. This time, he didn’t. He simply sighed good-naturedly and rose to his pedes-feets, “Fine. Fine. Keep your secrets. You want the lights off again?”

 

            I bobbed my helm and settled back against my wall. He strolled out of the basement, towards the little stairway that led up into his house instead of the ramp I’d taken down that first day. It irritated me that he should come down here, steal my joy and happiness for his own and then leave me with nothing but a drained system.

            Still, it couldn’t last that much longer. My chronometer was finally catching on. It would only be a matter of time.


	6. House Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't usually like to change POVs in these types of stories since I like the challenge of writing from one perspective. Problem is, Bumblebee's kind of blacked out and while I could just continue from when he wakes up and discovers what happened on his own, there would be a lot of lost information. I have to find time to explain at least some of his problems and his POV isn't the right one to do it from since he's largely not aware of them at this time and by the time he is, it'll be far too late and even more confusing than if I don't do it now. 
> 
> There was a bit more I wanted to say and explain about this but I've gotten so tired of rewriting this intro. Really it's been a chore reentering _all_ of this information since it continuously fails to post or save. So if anything is still unclear, my apologies and let me know and I'll try my best to explain. :'(
> 
> Thank you! :D

            Bumblebee was incredibly tired when you came to visit him. You didn’t see how when he was always sleeping. He only ever seemed to be awake when you woke him up to talk and he never moved more than a couple yards from the back wall. He didn’t do anything so you didn’t understand why he was so lethargic. It progressively worsened until one day his dim blue optics didn’t light up at all. His wings didn’t even twitch like they usually did when he knew you were there but chose not to respond. You gave it two more days before you decided to tell someone.

            Honestly, you’ve been worried about the yellow transformer for a while now. He wasn’t acting anything like himself. At first you chalked it up to being in a new environment but that didn’t make sense after everything you’d heard about him. He was a scout and while you didn’t know exactly what that entailed from a military standpoint, you were fairly certain he’d have to be at least familiar with unfamiliarity in his job.

            The obvious was that he missed Sam. Everyone knew that he would. Still, you didn’t see what that had to do with what was bothering him now. You could deal with his mood swings and fully expected some hostility brought on by hurt feelings but this was a bit extreme. There was a physical problem with him now and you didn’t know how to handle it.

            You thought about calling Sam. No doubt he’d be concerned. He knew Bumblebee better than you did so you hoped that maybe he’d seen this behavior before and could coach you through it. Better yet, Sam could talk to Bumblebee himself. Sam was who Bumblebee wanted anyway.

            After a moment’s consideration though, you decided against it.

            Sam was in school. He’d made it very clear he didn’t want to be involved in these things anymore. He wanted to be normal and try to do normal things with his abnormal life. Friend or not, Sam left Bumblebee in your care. Bumblebee was now your responsibility and it wasn’t like Sam would be able to do anything from the East Coast anyway. He could hardly drop everything and come running back across the country just to help an alien robot.

            Well technically he _could_ because he’d done it not even three months ago but he wasn’t _likely_ to so you’d have to call Ratchet.

            He was the second Autobot you’d met—Arcee having been the first. She didn’t say much though in comparison. The medic was in a flurry, trying to check over both you and Arcee simultaneously. Later the memories made you laugh since he’d been hilariously torn between excited and absolutely mortified at the situation. You would also later comment on his ridiculously impressive knowledge of human biology however at the time you were more concerned with not passing out.

            Your attempts did little to ease his anxiety so he’d entrusted you with his contact information long after he’d deemed you unharmed. The fact that he had a registered phone number just ruined it all for you. Needless to say, you became great friends. It was only natural since he visited so often. It took a while to convince you you hadn’t spontaneously dove off the deep end.

            When the dialing tone cleared, you could hear a faint scuffling and grunting coming over the line. You didn’t know what it was but you still felt compelled to ask, “Is now a bad time…?”

 

            “That would depend on whether or not this is a personal call.”

 

            “…Kinda,” you said slowly. You continued before Ratchet could interject. “It’s about Bumblebee.”

 

            “What about him? Are his voice box repairs not holding?” There was a note of irritation in his tone. You could tell it wasn’t directed at you. Though you didn’t know what caused it, you suspected he’d simply grown tired of constantly fixing the same injury.

 

            You smiled wryly at his assumption all the same, “No, those are just fine. He exercises his freedom of speech very well.”

 

            “If he’s giving you trouble, we can always ask that Optimus speak with him.” The suggestion was ruined by the light, happy tone he spoke with. Clearly Bumblebee’s difficult nature wasn’t too abnormal if Ratchet could find sadistic pleasure in it. At least you could mark that off your list of worries.

 

            “No, it’s fine. I actually called you for something different.”

 

            “Alright. What’s the problem?” He prompted.

 

            “…” The smile that crept up onto your face dropped back into an anxious frown. “It’s hard to put it in words. It makes more sense in my head but I suppose the short of it is that he’s sleeping too much.”

 

            There was silence on the other side for a moment. You stomped down on the embarrassment that made your heart flutter, “That alone is not unusual. Bumblebee can be very lazy when he has nothing to do.”

 

            You took comfort in his serious tone. At least he seemed to understand that you hadn’t called him needlessly. His temper would have flared if he believed otherwise, “Yeah but he doesn’t want to do anything at all. He doesn’t want to explore or drive or do anything besides sit against the basement wall. He’s been in the same spot for practically three weeks.” Ratchet made a sudden whirring sound that you instantly associated with being disturbed. He didn’t say anything however so you continued. “All he does is sleep. He used to wake up when I came down to check on him but now he can’t even do that.”

 

            “‘Can’t?’” Ratchet pressed, indicating that your word choice was very important now.

 

            You didn’t retract the term and said instead, “He’s really tired, Ratchet, and I can’t figure out why. His eyes— _optics_ won’t even turn on anymore.”

 

            His grumbled displeasure set your phone to vibrating against your ear, “Are you sure he hasn’t been outside at all in all this time?”

 

            “Uh…reasonably, yes. What should I do?”

 

            “ _You_ can’t do anything unless you’re suddenly capable of hauling three tons of heavy metal into the sun.”

 

            “Alright…then what are _you_ going to do? And why the hell would you put him in the sun?”

 

            Ratchet snorted, “Not literally. I misspoke."

 

            "Um...yeah, Ratchet. I guess we both 'misspoke'. I didn't really think you meant in the sun like in the sun, in the sun. I mean what does the sun have to do with any of this?"

 

            Ratchet made a displeased (almost embarrassed) sound that you might have teased him about if you weren't so interested in the answer to your question, "Bumblebee is very very low on energon and he needs to go out and absorb the sun’s rays so that his stores can be replenished. You can't move him obviously so I'm going to have to come and do it.” 

 

            You sat in silence for a while before releasing a very heavy sigh. You rested your elbow on your kitchen table and pressed your palm over your eyes, “So if I understand this correctly, not only have you adapted to Earth by taking on the shapes of our technology, but you’ve also taken a page from our plant biology to absorb food from the sun…”

 

            Ratchet rumbled noncommittally, “It’s a bit more complicated than that but I suppose your heavily simplified version will suffice.”

 

            “Okay, Ratchet...Can you just…come fix him?”

 

            “Naturally. I’ve already received Prime’s permission. I need only to wait for an aircraft.”

 

            “Awesome..,” you sighed in relief.

 

            “You didn’t really think I’d leave him to die, did you?”

 

            Shock rippled through your chest and you sat up straight, “He could die?!”

 

            “Is that not what happens to lifeforms that do not receive adequate sustenance?” Ratchet almost sneered at you. Normally you would have replied back with something snarky. It wasn’t usually in your character but the private game had developed between the two of you some time ago and you both took great joy in it. Now, however, you were too tightly wound to play.

            You didn’t know it was that serious. You didn’t know Bumblebee had been essentially starving himself while you looked on obliviously. You would have called Ratchet much sooner if you had. You would’ve insisted much harder that Bumblebee get up and _move_. You didn’t know how much longer Bumblebee would last and Ratchet’s arrival now grated on your mind with frantic urgency, “How long will it take you to get here? How long can you all go without food?”

 

            “Both are dependent on a lot of external factors. My arrival speed depends on how quickly your Earth planes can cross 10, 247 miles. I estimate maybe five hours with N.E.S.T.’s military aircrafts though that doesn’t take into account the drive to your home. As far as Bumblebee, if he has been as inactive as you say, he will last maybe a week or so more.” Ratchet explained in a professional drone. It was the same clinical sort of informative delivery he offered when you first freaked out on him almost a year ago. It surprisingly worked wonders for anxiety despite how distressing some of the things he told you in that tone were. “Calm down, [Name]. He will be alright.”

 

             “…Ugh…”

 

            “I recommend a nap.”

 

             You huffed a laugh despite yourself, “Yeah…Yeah. That’s a good idea. Good night, Ratchet.”

 

            Ratchet hummed in amusement before he cut the line, “I believe for you it’s only 8:52 in the morning.”

 

             You dropped your phone onto the table. It landed with a clatter that seemed unnaturally loud in your quiet abode.

            

            ‘ _Fuck a nap. I need alcohol_ ,’ you thought as you rose from your chair and trudged into the sunny living room.

           

            You fell into a couch and simply lied there, dazed.

            A small part of you suddenly understood why Sam wanted to get away from it all. He left you with a handful and while you knew it wasn’t going to be easy you also didn’t expect it to be like this.

            You had what amounted to a giant, angst-filled, photosynthesizing, teenage half-car, half-tranforming alien robot starving himself in your basement all because he missed a tiny human boy who was only three years your junior.

            You weren’t ready to be a parent. Hell, you weren’t even ready to be an adult though you were managing with familial leftovers and government help.

            That reminded you of your current job. Really you should have been doing some work. It was a nice enough day for taking pictures. Not that you would capture anything good. You couldn’t focus at all. You couldn’t even recall with any real certainty how you’d passed the next seven or so hours.

            There was definitely a nap in there. That was actually what you woke up from when a loud chirping siren blared outside your house. Belatedly you also noted that your phone was ringing though you ignored it in favor of looking out the window.

            There as you expected was Ratchet’s yellow-green ambulance quickly uncurling itself into a 20-foot tall titan.

            Your stomach rumbled out the random. You thought about eating but then the nerves you forgot about until now exploded in your stomach and you decided it wasn’t the best idea.

            It was hot when you stepped outside. The sun was definitely passed its high peak but that didn’t mean much in the desert. Ratchet hadn’t waited for you so you ended up chasing after him into the basement. It would have been easier if you’d gone down from inside your house but then you’d have to backtrack and it wasn’t worth it. Following Ratchet turned out to be a fairly pointless attempt since he was in and out faster than you could clear your driveway and start down the ramp.

            He carried Bumblebee in his arms as if the yellow bot weighed nothing at all. You trotted after him as he walked up your driveway and set Bumblebee down on the flat stretch of ground behind your house before the lane swept back down to join the main road. His longer stride meant he naturally reached his destination before you. By the time you arrived, a short thick wire trailed from Ratchet’s left wrist. It was split into multiple heads with one attached into some hidden part of Bumblebee’s wrist, a second burrowed under the metal of his chest, while another still disappeared into his yellow head.

            You didn’t say anything. You didn’t want to hover lest you somehow accidently disturb the medic’s work. And yet you were undeniably curious about what was happening.

            A heavy weight lifted from your shoulders when you heard Ratchet’s sirens. Bumblebee would be okay with his doctor around. A selfish part of you also took comfort in the fact that now if something bad did happen, no one could say it was entirely your fault or that you hadn’t tried.

            There was silence between you except for the natural ambience of the wild world abroad. It lasted for about ten minutes, one of the longest in your life. Once it was over though, Ratchet seemed to tune back into the world. Bumblebee came alive under his hands a moment later. Regrettably, he wasn’t anything close to coherent.

            His optics were just as dim as they always were lately though they seemed darker with how intensely bright it was outside. They didn’t lock onto anything other than the sky. Ratchet tried to call his attention with a few lights and noises. His wings twitched against the ground in response to some but other than a quick flickering in his optics nothing changed. He didn’t move. Ratchet’s face remained studiously impassive but you were getting anxious again, “What happened? What are you doing?”

 

            “I forcefully booted him up long enough to prompt his energon converter to start running again. Like most elements of Cybertronian biology, it went into standby since Bumblebee kept it idle for so long. Given enough time it might have restarted on its own but Bumblebee wasn’t likely to wake up soon enough.”

 

            “Is…Was…Did- _Does_ that have to do with him being low on…energon?” The word felt weird against the flat of your tongue but it didn’t feel right to try to find a human word for it.

 

            “Not explicitly. While he is certainly low enough on energon for his systems to advise he either refuel or shut down, the recharge he’s in now was not induced by hunger. He should have been able to wake up from it and collect solar energy on his own.”

 

            “So why hasn’t he?”

 

            “The prompts that bring us from recharge come from a fair number of places and only one of those would have come from his tanks complaining of low fuel levels. There’s a natural tree of primacies though I have largely rearranged ours to prioritize zeitgeber and distressing human vocalizations above all others.”

 

            “So…,” you began slowly as you wracked your brain for the meaning of his statement.

 

            “ _So_ ,” Ratchet stressed, impatient and unwilling to wait for you to catch on by yourself. “I’ve basically set special alarm clocks inside his head that he can’t ignore unless he wants to frag up every other operating system in his body. One of those alarms is his chronometer and it does more than tell time. Basic regulations it controls are how long Bumblebee feels he should recharge, how long he should be active, how long he should be able to go without refueling, all of which I have reprogrammed to better fit Earth’s timing.”

 

            “So…he’s not been doing anything because his body’s telling him that it’s not really necessary yet because his chronometer isn’t screaming at him.”

 

            “Yes.”

 

            “And his other alarms may be going off but because Earth time is prioritized, he can ignore them better.”

 

            “Yes.”

 

            “But he’s not getting enough energon because his alarm doesn’t go off on time so he’s not awake long enough to actually get up and sunbathe.”

 

            “Yes,” Ratchet said heavily, happy that you were following him fairly easily. “Your oversimplifications leave much to be desired.”

 

            You waved his comment away and asked another question while it was still fresh in your swirling mind, “How did it break?”

 

            “I’m not sure. We will have to wait for Bumblebee to tell us. I hadn’t come expecting something like this so unfortunately I am not entirely prepared for extractive surgery.”

 

            “How long will it be until he wakes up?” You couldn’t possibly count this drone-like state as awake.

 

            You looked away from Bumblebee’s prone form when you didn’t receive an answer. Ratchet completely ignored your staring, however, optics unfocused and dimmer than usual. It was like he was daydreaming--lost on a different plane. You suspected it had more to do with whatever he was doing to Bumblebee than idle musing.

            Silence reigned once again for a long while as Ratchet did whatever he needed to do to get Bumblebee collecting sunbeams again. You mulled over the shitload of information he bestowed upon you before finally asking, “So why on Earth would anyone ever _want_ their chronometer to mess up?”

 

            It must’ve been a pretty weird question because Ratchet tilted his head in confusion. His expression morphed into something mildly disturbing as he explained, “They wouldn’t. It can lead to a series of complications not unlike this one but with much more dire consequences. The discrepancy in how one perceives time can actually cause instability in our processors that I believe humans would liken to insanity. That’s not even taking into account how the frame responds to such high levels of conflicting signals…” He trailed off but a second later his optics brightened and he glared at you. “Are you implying that _Bumblebee_ has--”

 

            “Whoa, hey. That’s what he told me one day when I came down to see him,” you interrupted before he could place blame. The tall robot sounded almost _angry_ and you really didn’t need it directed at you. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

 

            Ratchet huffed something in that same weird buzzing whistle that Bumblebee started to resort to between your last couple of visits. When he returned to English his voice was hard and unyielding, “What _exactly_ did he say?”

 

            You frowned apologetically, “I…Well, I don’t know the _exact_ words--he wasn’t really speaking in complete sentences--but he was unusually happy one day so I asked him why. He mentioned his time-keeping systems and I assumed that it was the same as the chronometer you were talking about.” Ratchet hummed affirmatively but made no indication he wanted to speak yet so you continued. “He said they were resetting themselves and that he wanted them to.”

 

           “Did he say why?” Ratchet asked after a minute.

 

           You sighed bitterly, “No.” You thought about mentioning Sam. You suspected he had a place in all this despite how much he might wish otherwise. In the end, though, you decided it wasn’t really Ratchet’s business. It wasn’t really yours either. It was a personal problem between Sam and Bumblebee that you just happened to get dragged into. You’d leave it to them to handle.

 

           “Then he certainly has _a lot_ of explaining to do when he comes back online,” Ratchet said darkly.

 

           “You put him back under?”

 

           Ratchet sighed, suddenly seeming very tired. He detached his wires from Bumblebee and retracted them back into his body. It was a strangely fascinating process to watch, “I had to. I cannot…physically, for lack of a better term, correct his chronometer without first removing it which would require surgery as I have previously explained. Instead, I will reset it remotely after he boots up naturally.” He sensed the questions before you even asked and so continued on explaining even as he ushered you up towards your back patio. “If I try to force the changes in the middle of a defragging session, there is a very high chance I will cause irreparable damage. Likely he could glitch, fall into stasis, and stay there permanently—trapped inside his processors until his spark gutters.”

 

            Your face contorted. While you didn’t know explicitly what all those terms meant, you managed to find what seemed to be a human equivalent and it was awful to imagine. Ratchet rumbled his agreement, having guessed your thoughts from your expression, “He will be fine now that he’s receiving energon again.”

 

           “Then I guess you’ll be here until he wakes up, then, huh? Great because I’ve got a couple questions.”

 

            “Ah! No!” He barked much like a parent might do to their wayward child. (Or a master to their dog but you weren’t sensitive.) “Not until you put something on your stomach. You think I can’t tell you haven’t eaten all day?”

 

            “ _Younglings_ ,” he grumbled and folded back down into an ambulance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About Ratchet. He's different from his G1 version. That depiction of him is much more lively and crass and generally my favorite. The Bay Movies, however, make him out to be more professional and clinical which I really enjoy since it's much closer to my own style and therefore easier to write. There's also the absence of his usual posse which I think plays a huge role in his more subdued behavior. Long story short, there's no one around to get in trouble with so what else do you do but your job?
> 
> About the energon converter. In the Bay Movies there's not been any mention of energon or how the Transformers sustain themselves that I can recall. Please feel free to correct me on that if you happen to have found something I missed. Anyway, I imagine Cybertronians still need sustenance and I don't think they're so mechanical that just recharging alone would keep them fully functional. I also think the Transformers would have been smart enough to figure out ways to harnest natural energy sources when they realized Cybertron was dry. Especially after that ancient stint with the Sun Harvester. In my headcanon, the Sun Harvester was actually the prehistoric method for modern Cybertronian solar energy conversion. Like an early experiment that, after a lot of reinventing, became something smaller and less choatic. Sort of like how telegraphs eventually led to cell phones...Kinda.
> 
> Anyway I had a lot of fun writing this one! I might expand on it somewhere eventually. This chapter might also see a number of updates as I go in and out, tweaking one thing or another. Nothing drastic but just a warning. :P


	7. Welcome Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just saw the new Transformers and well...um...it wasn't _awesome_ but it did rekindle my creative mind for them so without further ado:

            Everything was wrong.

            I knew it the moment I regained consciousness.

            And it was wrong because everything was suddenly so very _right._

            Everything was back in place. There weren’t any floating jagged pieces of my programming grinding against the others. Even without my optics on I could tell I was outside. That miniscule thrumming in my abdomen that I usually wasn’t aware of felt powerful as a result of disuse. I was converting energon again. And my plating was hot.

            Chagrin flashed briefly through my frame as the thought occurred to me. How could I have left refueling out of my calculations? My cables were loose and my circuits tingled with excess energy that didn’t come from recharging. My tanks were full and my engine was purring smoothly… I felt satisfied.

            And yet that angered me.

            Almost before the emotion consumed my spark and threatened to take hold of my body, it was subdued. A sharp inhibitor raced towards the raging fire and engulfed it in a vice, locking it and most of my coordination away.

            I rattled my engine violently in a great show of defiant displeasure. I _needed_ to feel angry. I _needed_ to lash out. If I couldn’t, there was only a handful of other emotions to feel right now and none of them were nearly as appealing.

            All my internal raving was met with cynical amusement—the kind that older people toss your way right before their indignant wrath slammed over your helm.

            Ratchet, then.

            Some part of me knew as much. There was a lingering presence at the very edges of my systems that recalled his passing. Besides, only he would have been able to make my frame feel like I’d just stepped fresh out of a body shop even though we were on an alien planet.

            That just pissed me off even more, though. Or it would have if he hadn’t just pumped a tranquilizer through my lines. 

            I whirred irritably and turned over onto my side. Why would I want to feel good on the outside when my insides were crashing and burning? My doorwings perked up without my weight forcing them down.

            In retrospect it was probably a good thing Ratchet had come but there was no way I was going to let him teek my embarrassment nor my regret. I could hear him murmuring something to me but I ignored it. I couldn’t possibly focus on him when the object of my ire had just materialized before my optics.

            [Name] was certainly not the first thing I wanted to see and without the ability to be angry enough to want to squish him, I found I wanted only to run away.

 

            Those dim (color) optics—eyes so unlike Sam’s—narrowed a little and the corners of his tiny mouth tugged down into a hard, critical expression that perfectly matched the authoritative voice he spoke in, “The basement is off limits to you.”

 

            I waved a servo dismissively and made to turn away but he opened his mouth again, “Indefinitely. And you’re not to stray out of my sight. Anywhere you go, I go. No exceptions.” That powerful voice was so _emboldened_. Too much so.

 

            I growled my engine at the tiny being. How dare he take away my personal escapes? Who did he think he was? I didn’t care that this was his house. I was owed _some_ sort of freedom as a fellow lifeform. He couldn’t do this. He was lucky Ratchet was here. Then again—Ratchet was here. Why wasn’t _he_ saying something to counter this?

            [Name]’s shoulders stiffened at the loud sound but he did not back down. If anything his face became even less sympathetic than it was before. It threw me off. He’d always seemed so…docile. Not quite a push-over but certainly not possessed of the backbone most of the humans needed to contend with us, “If you don’t like it, you can go home with Ratchet, but you’re not going to pull this bullshit over my head again.”

 

            “Consider your options carefully, youngling,” Ratchet warned when my lips parted almost immediately after [Name]’s closed. Because naturally I would choose to go with the others rather than be imprisoned no matter what Sam had to say about it. It irritated me that Ratchet would even think there was something to even _think_ about.

            So I hissed at him angrily.

            He was even more unfazed than the (s/t) male staring up at us from my right. It made me nervous. Usually Ratchet was quick to suppress disrespect directed at him and he had more than enough medical tools to make the lesson stick. Likely there was something larger in store for me, so much so that he felt it’d be overkill to waste his time adding on to it. I found out a second later what the hidden threat was when he said, “If you come with me, you’ll have to accept your punishment from Prime.”

 

            My doorwings quailed and dropped like a stone in a lake. There was no point in feigning ignorance. If Ratchet patched me up then surely he’d seen what I’d done, “You told?!"

 

            Honestly I would have been better off if I had to face _Prowl_ rather than Optimus and that was saying something. The mech had a way of making you feel like the tiniest pile of junk in the slummiest little scrapyard when he was disappointed in you. Somehow I doubt he’d be just a little let down and I’m pretty sure he’d have more in store for me than just a sad glance.

 

            “Did I tell our leader and supreme commander that one of his subordinates is so mentally unstable that he’s decided to essentially offline himself through starvation and unauthorized internal manipulation of his own organs for no apparent reason at all aside from--”

 

            “ _It wasn’t for no reason_ ,” I insisted almost desperately.

 

            Ratchet’s optics spiraled a little in displeasure and he hissed, “You’re an idiot. Of course I will. As soon as the time difference allows for it.”

 

            My optics spiraled wide. He hadn’t done it yet. There was still time. Hope slammed into my chassis and I struggled to sit up properly. It took some help from the yellow-green mech who offered a single servo for me to latch onto. And latch I did. My grip was tight and I tried to make myself look as frail and innocent as possible when I begged, “Please, don’t tell. I wasn’t trying to kill myself!”

 

            “Then what _were_ you doing?” I couldn’t tell if he was convinced or not. Ratchet had a mean poker face. I didn’t understand what that was at first when Mikaela first started singing about it but after she explained it to me, I found it described a good few of the people I knew very well.

 

            “It…was for Sam,” I admitted to the older mech with no small amount of embarrassment. The revelation didn’t seem to surprise anyone present. That made me anxious especially when Ratchet continued to gaze at me, decidedly unconvinced and unimpressed. “I was trying to make the time go by faster so I could see him again sooner. Or at least that’s what it would feel like--”

 

            “Right because that makes this all better.”

 

            My plating bristled at his mocking tone, “It might have if you’d left me alone!”

 

            “ _How_ , Bumblebee?” I turned immediately, without thinking, in [Name]’s direction. The distressed tones instantly triggered the automatic response Optimus had Ratchet write into our battle systems. Usually it spurred us to eliminate the cause for alarm but, as there was no physical threat to be found, my programming itched instead. I should probably get Ratchet to look over the lines of code before he left. They always seemed much stronger in me than in the others. Or maybe it was just my devotion to Sam that incensed my battle scripts… “How would leaving you alone to _kill_ yourself help anyone?”

 

            I hesitated in light of the intensity suddenly thrust my way, “I…Well, Sam--”

 

            “ _Sam_?!” [Name] almost spits. I might have jumped to my charge’s defense if the derision in [Name]’s voice was directed at him. I was surprised to find that, after a quick analysis of his voice patterns, it was actually aimed at _me_. “You think _Sam_ would be _happy_ you did this?! What, you think hurting yourself will make him come back? That it’ll make him _not_ want to go to school and get a job and make something of himself in favor of _driving_ off into the sunset with some obsessive emotionally damaged war machine?!”

 

            “[Name].” Ratchet interjected reproachfully but the tiny male only shook his head and slammed his foot onto the pavement.

 

            “ _No_ , Ratchet,” and there was a tightness in his throat, a crippling frustration wafting up off of the little human that actually had _my_ spark hurting. I wondered at the tears pooling in my own optics even as he continued to fuss. “ **No**. You _can’t_ hurt yourself like this, Bumblebee. It won’t solve anything. You’ll only end up hurting Sam and Mikaela and Optimus and Ratchet and _everyone_ that loves you if you keep this up. Is that what you want? Because I would have thought a waning alien species at war would _value_ the life of the few they have left.”

 

            “That’s enough, [Name],” Ratchet tried again. And this time there was no arguing with his verdict.

 

            [Name] saw as much and scowled at the turn of events. His fingers curled and his nostrils flared and he glared up at me harshly, “You have two options, Bumblebee: stay or go. But you’re _not_ going to do this shit again. You’re _not_.”

 

            With those parting words, [Name] turned away and stomped back up the driveway and into his home. The door slammed hard enough to produce an echoing rattle. The world seemed strangely silent afterwards.

 

            “You scared him, Bumblebee,” Ratchet said when it was certain nothing more could be expected from the tiny male. He didn’t outright say it but I could sense that the same held true for the medic, too.

 

            I turned to Ratchet, stunned at not only the explosive display of emotions from such a little creature, but also the corresponding lance that seared through my chassis. I didn’t want to admit how close to home those words hit. But then…I didn’t have to. Slow tears trickled down my faceplates before I could get a grip and I shuttered my optics against them.

 

            Ratchet, though he remained steadfastly resolute, offered me the tiniest reprieve and extended his field. It was thick and heavy with affection but there was also lingering worry and disappointment and confusion and I knew there was still a lot to go over I just didn’t _want_ to right now, “I just want it to stop hurting…”

 

            Ratchet, for all his gruffness, understood and offered his compassion, “…I won’t tell Optimus. Yet. But you will explain this to me in full detail once you wake up again.”

 

            “…You’re inducing stasis?” I didn’t hear myself say the words but Ratchet responded all the same.

 

            He hummed affirmatively, “Your systems still need a little more time to recalibrate and you’re putting too much emotional strain on your frame at the moment…”

 

            I didn’t know what else to say to that so I powered off my optics and lied back down on the fiery concrete.

 

            “Accept it, Bumblebee. That’s the only way you’ll get through this life,” I heard Ratchet murmur before the sweet relief of oblivion overtook me again.


	8. Recovery Intermission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus this took waaaaayyyy too long! Sorry, everyone! I promise I haven't disappeared. But I thought my hands were full before, well now I'm trying to move across the country, I've only got 26 days to do it in and not enough money to work with so I've been grinding in between finals and apartment searching and just a whole slew of mini snowballs that roll down the mountain to make a huge one and well, you know how that goes I'm sure. Still! I've got a slight break so I wanted to post this before I got swamped again so enjoy! :D

            I didn’t see much of [Name] after my initial rebooting. Mostly because he banned me from the basement and that was where he was spending all of his time now. Not that he didn’t go down there before when I occupied the space. It’s just now he seemed to be actively _doing_ things down there. It made me curious especially since Ratchet would go down there, too, and neither would resurface for _hours_ …

            In the beginning it was easy to ignore as it made sense that at the very least Ratchet would find something to occupy his time with. I didn’t expect it to be with the human but even then what else was there to do? I was too saturated with sedatives to want to do anything more than gaze listlessly at the sky.

            Naturally I didn’t exactly care how _[Name]_ spent his time, of course, but I couldn’t fathom he’d be up to something worthy of _Ratchet’s_ interest. Wheeljack was the only one who could ever boast of that capability and even then it was usually limited to Ratchet repairing whatever Wheeljack had managed to break on himself.

            My audials picked up the heavy padding of Ratchet’s pedefalls some time in the late afternoon. He was alone. [Name] had likely taken his indoor route up to his home as per usual…It made sense but before I could stop myself, I’d muttered, “I don’t see how he’s going to make sure I stay here if he stays locked up in that house all day.”       

            I couldn’t be bothered to look apologetic at my tone. Just because I was trapped in this forced state of ridiculous calm didn’t mean I didn’t _know_ I was angry. It was all over my thoughts. Regardless of my close shave with death, some part of me felt betrayed by the boy—still believed that my plan could have worked if he’d just stayed away a little longer.

            If he’d just stayed away from the beginning, honestly, but _no_ , not only did he stuff his little muzzle where it wasn’t wanted, he’d called in Ratchet to boot.

            Still, all of it was rather useless to go on about. It was just too…unfulfilling without the ability to get sufficiently pissed off. I think that was what frustrated me more than anything.

            It didn’t help that there was nothing to occupy myself with—what with [Name] refusing to allow me to go anywhere and Ratchet, my only true companion, choosing to hole up with _him_ instead—besides my idly speculating about what they were doing down there.

            “He won’t be once I’m gone but for now I’m your babysitter. You’ve stressed him out too much. He needs a break.” The almost mocking tone of his teasing explanation might have done something to me if I wasn’t so out of it. As it was, I simply rolled a disinterested glyph around in my voicebox. “Besides, I don’t think either of you are ready to see each other.”

            I wiggled my wings questioningly against the ground. Ratchet was familiar enough with them to understand and huffed, “I give you those dampeners for a reason, Bumblebee.”

            I rumbled my engine with as much irritation as I could muster. I wasn’t in the mood for another lecture. He’d given me so many of them in the last few cycles I almost wished I’d just opted to go face Optimus instead. At least, _we_ could have moved on after a little kowtowing on my part. And there would have only been _one_ stasis-inducing lecture to brave through. Ratchet seemed to have one ready every time he opened his mouth to address me. Like, seriously. Just get it all out at once, “How long are you staying?”

            I tried to ask the question casually. Maybe it was a little ~~intentionally~~ overdone. Ratchet immediately bristled. Or at least that’s what I’d been hoping for. I didn’t get my wish. (When did I ever these cycles?)

           He was too damn amused. What had [Name] done to get him in such an unshakeably good mood? Add that to my growing list of curiosities surrounding those two that I couldn’t even be _bothered_ to speculate about…

            “Until you get a curb on your sudden desires to commit murder.”

            “It’s not that bad,” I denied with a dismissive flap of my servo.

            “No?”

            “No,” I insisted. And it was true. I was angry, sure, but I didn’t want to _kill_ [Name]. At least not for real. It was one of many fantasies driven from emotions that were just that in the end. For me at least.

            …Though that didn’t really ring true considering the last few...whatevers. (My chronometer must still be feeling a little stressed.)

            …

           …Okay, so maybe Ratchet had reason to treat me as he is.

            Primus, was that was a hard thing to admit! Especially when all my rationalizing seemed so…sane just a week ago. What was wrong with me?

            There was no point in withholding the question. I needed to know and Ratchet was a medic. The _best_ medic. It’d be downright stupid of me _not_ to ask.

            The question drained away a little of the playfulness [Name] had imparted. I almost felt bad about it but it wasn’t like they wouldn’t be back in the basement first thing tomorrow and besides it was the human, “That’s a more difficult question with no easy answer. You’re clearly more reactive than any of us gave you credit for which in hindsight makes sense considering how firmly you’ve latched onto Sam. I’d wager it’s some sort of coping mechanism in response to the things you've experienced by either your emotional centre or your spark."

            “So I’m broken?” I asked and moved to sit up. My spark spun a little faster in my chassis despite myself. I was nervous for the answer. There were stories of mecha who reached points so low—low enough that they started scrabbling for excuses to keep going. More often than not, the anchors were too short-lived, too easily destroyed, and the mecha lost themselves—snuffing out their own sparks even before they made it to the next battle. I didn’t _feel_ like I’d gotten there yet but those mecha never were the most reliable in the helm. Was I one of them? Primus, I didn’t want to be but if I was then--

            “Calm down, bitlet. There’s something wrong with _all_ of us. It’s impossible to come away unaffected considering everything we’ve been through.”

            “Not unless you’re Optimus,” I tossed in just to lighten the mood a little. Prime had a way about him that inspired hope just by thinking about him. It worked even now for Ratchet who smiled automatically, absently, without realizing that he was doing it.

            “I think, sometimes, it even gets to him a little and he’s much much older than you, Bumblebee. I’m surprised you’re not doing worse than you are, to be honest. You really are a strong little warrior.” I beamed at the praise and Ratchet’s smile grew. Honestly, I didn’t usually like being reminded of how young I was but when they did it in a way that made me feel proud, I couldn’t say I minded. “But you’re also still a mechling. And a lot of your problems are enhanced by something the humans named quite accurately ‘teenage rebellion’. Or at least that’s what [Name] believes you’re suffering through despite the lack of true scientific studies to back up the phenomenon. That and you aren’t quite in the correct relative age range for that to apply…”

            I tuned him out as he started on in medical jargon I didn’t care to look up on the internet. Ratchet was very obviously interested in this human concept. I couldn’t say I was as impressed. It did comfort me a little though, knowing that he was unconcerned enough to start prattling about nonsense, “Is that what you do down there? Come up with ideas for what’s wrong with me?” 

            “No. Not anymore,” Ratchet answered easily, almost unbearably so. It reminded me of the tone I’d used earlier and it made me wonder if he wasn’t just playing with me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was. Ratchet could be a straight up asshole sometimes.

            “So what do you do then?” I hadn’t meant to ask. Now, if he told me, I’d have one less thing to occupy my mind with. Still, my curiosity was piqued. I _did_ want to know.

            Ratchet sent me an odd look, “You mean you’ve been here for almost a month and you haven’t bothered to ask about why there’s so much empty space underneath a human house?”

            I fluttered my doorwings defensively, “I was a little busy.”

            Ratchet grumbled in a Cybertronian version of an amused snort, “Obviously. Even Sunstreaker’s excited about his little project and he hates humans.”

            “ _Sunstreaker_ knows about it but I don’t?” That was unacceptable. It was actually an insult. I mean, Sunstreaker didn’t care about _anything_ but himself and here I was, a trained scout and member of the SO division and I had no knowledge about something I’d been literally right in the middle of. “How does _that_ work?"

           Ratchet hummed noncommittally as he folded down into his altmode to rest, “I don’t know, youngling. I guess you were just too busy.”

             Yeah. A total pitspawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's short and you're not in this chapter but you're back in the next one and Ratchet's not staying forever so pretty soon it's going to be one on one again and I'm excited to get those encounters out to all of you!

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, this was really really short for me. I usually have more for the first chapter but this seemed a very nice place to stop so I wasn't going to push it. 
> 
> The second chapter is already started. It's looking like it's going to be short too which is fine but abnormal. o.O
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> RIP Jazz v.v


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